


Unspoken

by Astray



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Angst, I am so sorry for Benvolio, I'm so sorry, M/M, The Author Regrets Everything, also - lotsa feels, and communication issues, bencutio - Freeform, my feels!, tycutio - Freeform, why can't these idiots just stop and talk?, why must I do this?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 09:13:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2382908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astray/pseuds/Astray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benvolio loves Mercutio, but believes Mercutio doesn't know, no care. It takes a shadow of a man for truth to emerge. And a lifetime to reflect and grieve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ambrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrose/gifts).



Overcast skies watching over them in the last days of autumn - the fire was burning bright but the warmth did not reach him. Not when Mercutio was gone, probably to taunt someone. Or other dalliances he'd rather not think about. The darkness were falling and Benvolio kept watch, for he knew Mercutio had to be given his freedom. And he should not resent him for it - he did not, not really. Except that he was getting colder and colder, and the fire was dying and Mercutio was gone still. Worry started to gnaw at him - he refused to think about it. But he had been gone since dawn - Benvolio waking to a cold, empty bed. Maybe Mercutio thought of him as just a friend, after all. Because he was stupid and never told him how he loved him. Benvolio would do anything for Mercutio, even if it meant lying to himself - to both of them, if only to be given the chance to be with him, be touched by him. 

The door was opened and closed softly, footsteps light. Benvolio knew - because Mercutio was careful sometimes. He did not have to wait long for arms to curl around his waist.

"Is the black night so interesting that you look at her in earnest?"

Mercutio laid his chin on his shoulder, having to stretch a little. He turned around to face him. 

"And what the day did for you to come covered in soot?"

"A narrow escape and long run, sweet mother hen." 

Benvolio smiled, yet could not laugh. He dared not think. His gaze lingered on Mercutio's lips - and to try and find what? Treachery would exist with only promises of loyalty - and of these, Mercutio gave none. 

Cold fingers caressed the side of his face, catching his attention. 

"A penny for your thoughts?"

"Are you hurt?" He blurted the question, part in genuine concern, part to cover for his slip.

"No. Sorry I worried you."

"If you apologize everytime, I am afraid your mouth will only form apologies before long."

The diversion worked, if Mercutio's smirk was any indication. 

"I can do other things without talking, you know."

He scoffed at the lack of subtlety. "Of course you can."

When Mercutio kissed him, it was like drowning - he could try to run but felt it to hopeless. Mercutio was making him breathless, and he would have cursed him. Or bless him. And it hurt. It hurt to know that perhaps Mercutio was humouring him - showing a love he could not give. But there was no deceit in Mercutio's eyes even as his mouth worked to shatter Benvolio's restrains. He was pliant under Mercutio's hands, let himself be guided - until it was not enough anymore, and he had to touch, kiss, bite - a travesty for the love he felt, and too tame a demonstration of the lust he did not want to feel. He would give anything for this - to feel Mercutio's hot skin under his hands - to trail open-mouthed kisses on his throat - to be the one who drew those keen moans from him... Even though he was not the only one - even though it was not enough, no matter how Mercutio clawed at his back. No matter how many times he would claim him, no matter how many times he would let himself be claimed, for those claims were build on a wisp of time and air.

He did not care though. When he felt Mercutio curl up against his side to sleep, head on his chest, he did not really care. Even if being so close to him began hurting again. Even if the wound in his soul was a gaping maw. He would never tell Mercutio, because those moments, however fleeting, were shining bright through bleak Verona. Moments of grace, flying with Icarus before the fall - he should have known

 

Tybalt came to them right after the fight. Tybalt, whose blade cut Mercutio away from him. But yet, Mercutio had never been his - and to know that Romeo was the one holding him... It made the pain flare in Benvolio's chest. He could not move. How could Mercutio be dead, gone grave and silent? And Romeo who fled, supposedly in search of Tybalt. Tybalt who was kneeling across from him, at a distance but eyes riveted on the lifeless form of his friend. Truly, Mercutio had a way with curses. 

When Tybalt spoke, it was a ragged whisper - a voice too used to shouting and raging. 

"I never meant for him to take the blow."

"I know." And it was true - even if Tybalt looked at him in disbelief. He had seen Tybalt's stricken face when he had turned - and realized it was fatal. If Benvolio had seen it in Mercutio's stance, Tybalt must have seen it on Mercutio's features.

"I..."

"Don't, Tybalt. Just don't." He was too exhausted - his tears had run dry a while ago. Yet, a new pain clutched his throat, and he doubled over - he could not. He could not take it - he could not breath, or cry, or even scream. He'd die. 

Strong arms wrapped around him, forcing him back against - Tybalt. He recognized the fur. It was odd, and part of him wanted to kill Tybalt, maim him and hurt him. At the same time, he just wanted to let go entirely - and say it. Say those words he never said. And he did just that - he poured his heart out to Tybalt, somehow also hoping it would make Tybalt feel his pain. He doubted it, and was startled to find Tybalt tightening his grip around him. It was a protective gesture, even if it felt odd. He could not help but ask.

"You are not alone in your loss, though it is not the same. He shared your feelings."

"He did - but not mine."

Tybalt shook his head slightly. "If he had not, do you think he would have gone to you, his best friend?"

"I am- was" and gods if that past tense hurt him, "I was his best friend, that's why."

"You are mistaken. I am the first one to call him a fool, but maybe he thought you did not share his affections, and convinced himself of that?"

That was the most he ever heard Tybalt speak, and more so, without bite. 

"What would you know?"

"Who do you think he turned to? He used to come for a fight, asking me to maul him."

"And you did."

"Aye." Tybalt sighed. "From a desperate man to another, we came to a sort of understanding."

"Have you..." 

The silence that greeted his half-question was enough to convince him - but the fact that Tybalt relinquished his hold was proof. Pain, betrayal, flared to life - brighter, deadlier. 

"Why?" And how pathetic this must have sounded.

"Because he did not want to hurt you, taint you - that's what he said. We were of a similar mind." A pause. "He made me promise not to hurt you."

"He's dead!"

"And I will pay the price for it, Benvolio."

The only time the Capulet did not use his last name. He turned his head, and for the first, it was like seeing Tybalt the man, not the Capulet heir. He looked shaken, pale and the usually dreadful smear of black faded. A shadow cutting his face, breaking the façade. 

 

When Romeo arrived, enraged, or maybe just insane, Tybalt did not fight back. Oh, he gave a good pretense but it was just this - pretense. When Tybalt fell, a few feet from where Mercutio had fallen, he did so with a relieved smile. The smile of dying men, those who were finally at peace. Benvolio urgedRomeo to run - if he were honest, it was not so much to save his cousin rather than prevent him from desecrating Tybalt's last moments. He went to his side, not minding his hissing bodyguard - his catlike servant whose pain was only too reminiscent of his own. 

"The debt is paid."

"The war will not end."

Tybalt coughed, blood staining his lips. Benvolio helped his sit, so he could breathe better. "Will you pray for the dead?" 

And then it dawned on Benvolio - how foolish they had been. Mercutio for never seeing - Tybalt and him for never speaking. 

"I will. Until my last breath, I promise."

"Thank you, well-meaning Montague." 

As fast as his anger did Tybalt go, and Benvolio mourned. He mourned his beloved friend; he mourned the foe who died for the wrong reason.

 

And even if later he would grieve for young Romeo and Juliet, he would always go to Mercutio, then to Tybalt. And would recount what occurred in the city and how peace, the one Tybalt said he hated, had finally come to Verona. On he lived, and sometimes wish for the past foes to have reconciled, even if it was just in waking dreams.


End file.
